The Gentle Art of Murder

by Jeanne M. Dams

‘The only fluid that goes by that name here is unfit to give to Watson, let along humans. But we can certainly sit. My office is down this way. The chairs aren’t comfortable, but they’re better than standing.’

  Derek called back one of his crew on her way to the stairs. ‘Caroline, love, could you do us all a great favour? Apparently the nearest drinkable coffee is at Starbucks. I hate to send you out in the rain, and truly I’d send one of the men if they were within hail—’

  ‘It’s all right, chief. I know you’re not sexist. And the rain isn’t that bad. Four coffees?’

  ‘Why don’t you get one of those boxes and a supply of cups and so on? Then everyone can have some, as and when they need it.’ He pulled some money out of his pocket and handed it to her with a pat on the back.

  We settled in Dennis’s office. As he had said, the chairs weren’t great, but we were all weary from excess of emotion, and I for one was very glad to sit down. Alan pulled his chair close to mine, and Watson sat on my feet. I felt my heart and breathing begin to slow to normal.

  ‘Well, then. Tell me, from the beginning.’

  Gillian related her evening absorbed in her work, until noises from the photo studios upstairs caught her attention.

  ‘What sort of noises?’

  She closed her eyes in thought. ‘Someone moving about. And then something heavy fell on the floor.’

  ‘The lens,’ I said. Alan shushed me.

  ‘Were you making noise yourself?’

  ‘Not a great deal, I imagine. Clay isn’t exactly a noisy material, and I wasn’t tramping about or singing to myself, or anything of that sort.’

  ‘You had lights on, of course.’

  ‘The lights in the big studio had been on all day. The rain made the world so gloomy. But I wasn’t working in the big studio. These heads I’m doing are small, so I moved the current one – a young African woman, Dorothy, you’ll love her – into that little room off the main studio. It doesn’t have any windows.’

  ‘And did you leave the lights on in the bigger room?’

  ‘Inspector, have you seen the signs at all the light switches in this building? I was sure I should be set before a firing squad at dawn if I dared leave a light on one second longer than was required.’

  ‘I hope they have their weapons in good order for me, then,’ he said calmly. ‘Go on. You heard noises.’

  She told the rest of the story, sighing at the end. ‘And I came so close! And then – oh, I know you all meant well, but I still don’t believe I was ever in danger.’

  ‘If you weren’t then, you are now,’ said Derek.

  I looked from him to Alan, who wore the identical expression. ‘I don’t understand.’

  Alan shook his head. ‘He, whoever it was, knows now that he was observed. And thanks to our loud cries, he knows by whom.’

  ‘All he doesn’t know, we presume,’ said Derek, ‘is how much you saw, Gillian. But I imagine he’ll be very eager to find out.’

  We talked that over, Alan and I, after Gillian had eaten a piece of pie and gone to bed.

  ‘Won’t he know, when the police don’t come knocking at his door, that she couldn’t have seen enough to make problems for him?’

  ‘A sensible person would do. I’m not certain this person is sensible. He may have begun with a plan that, however horrific, was conceived logically. Now I believe we’re dealing with a rat in a trap, striking viciously in every direction, whether logical or not.’

  I took a healthy swig of my bourbon. ‘Alan, that’s a terrible image!’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, and finished his whisky. ‘I believe Gillian is in great danger. In fact, I believe everyone connected with that college is in danger, but especially Gillian.’

  ‘Because she saw him.’

  ‘And because she’s young and female and thus presumably defenceless.’

  ‘What can we do to keep her safe?’

  ‘Nothing, unless we put her in protective custody.’ I started to protest, but he held up a hand. ‘Dorothy, the only way to be completely safe from a dangerous criminal is to stay in an inaccessible place. There aren’t many of those. Some of the medieval castles were very nearly impregnable, but even there, foes could launch flaming missiles from a trebuchet. Modern maximum security prisons have been the site of riots and murders. Modern potentates have been assassinated despite elaborate security precautions. We could ask Gillian to stay in this house, all the time, see no one, speak to no one—’

  ‘Which she’d never agree to.’

  He nodded. ‘Which she’d never agree to. But even if she did, with a little thought I could come up with perhaps a dozen ways she could be hurt or killed, within these walls. The only way she, or the rest, can be protected is if the murderer is captured.’

  ‘And we’re as far from doing that as from launching a rocket to the moon.’

  ‘Well, perhaps not quite, but there hasn’t been a lot of progress. I suggest we go to bed and think about it in the morning.’

  ‘Thank you, Scarlett.’ I polished off the bourbon, removed Sam from my lap and Watson from my feet, and did as suggested.

  Wednesday, September 17

  I had expected to sleep badly, but somehow I fell into deep dreamlessness and didn’t wake until Alan brought me a cup of coffee.

  ‘The rain has gone,’ he said as he presented me with a steaming mug. ‘The sun is shining, and Bob is already at work in the garden. A better day today, my love.’

  Then he left me to complete my slow process of coming to full consciousness, but he’d cheered me considerably. I showered and dressed in record time, and went down to a sunny kitchen with a full complement of animals and Gillian feeding them titbits.

  Alan looked up from his Telegraph. ‘Eggs and bacon?’

  ‘No, just toast and cereal this morning, thanks. I’m getting fat. I’ll get it. Morning, Gilly.’

  ‘Good morning. Fine day.’

  ‘Beautiful. I wouldn’t mind this kind of weather all year round.’

  ‘Yes, you would,’ said Alan. ‘You’d be frightfully bored. And what would one talk about in trains and queues without the weather?’

  ‘True, I suppose. “Another fine day” repeated for the forty-seventh time in a row would be a trifle monotonous. What are your plans for the day, Gilly?’

  I tried to keep the anxiety out of my voice, but she must have read my face. ‘Don’t worry. Dennis is taking me to the college and home again. He insisted, last night. He’s my designated mother-hen for the day. I’ve promised him I won’t be alone with anyone except him today, and I’m not to work late. What are you two going to be doing?’

  Alan, who had ignored me and prepared my meagre breakfast, sat down with us. ‘I have a suggestion about that. Dorothy, how would you like to go with me on a hunt for Matthew?’

  ‘Sounds great, only where do we start? Seems to me we have all of England to choose from, and the Continent’s not all that far away.’ I applied myself to my cereal.

  ‘And what about Wales?’

  ‘But surely the police have checked his home town.’

  ‘They’ve made inquiries. That’s not quite the same as going there.’

  ‘You want to go to Wales?’

  ‘Why not? It’s a beautiful day, we can get there by lunchtime if we don’t waste time, and we’ll enjoy the drive, if nothing else.’

  ‘Um.’ Spur-of-the-moment travel has grown less and less appealing with the passing years. I like to plan. I sat and tried to think of what I was supposed to do in the next few days. ‘How long do you think we might be gone?’ I spread marmalade on my toast.

  ‘If we have no luck in two or three days, there’s no point in staying longer.’

  ‘Oh. Well. If Jane can look after the animals …’

  ‘I’ll be here,’ Gillian reminded me. ‘I can see to them. You know I love animals.’

  ‘And we’ll take Watson with us,’ said Alan.

  Watson grasped that idea immediately, and barked his enthusia
stic agreement.

  I sighed and pushed aside what little remained of my breakfast. ‘Okay, then. But I’ll have to do a load of laundry first, and pack, and get in some groceries for Gilly …’

  ‘The laundry is in the tumble drier, almost ready,’ said Alan smugly.

  ‘And I can buy whatever groceries I need,’ said Gilly. ‘I do want you to find Matt, if you can. Please agree to go.’

  Three eager faces looked at me. (The cats, of course, paid no attention whatever. The conversation didn’t concern their food or comfort.) Watson came up and licked my hand and gave me the full force of his pleading eyes.

  I had to laugh. ‘Oh, very well. I’ll pack as fast as I can. And somebody make me a sandwich or something. I can’t travel across the country on toast and cereal.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ said Alan, ‘if you’ll help her pack, Gilly.’

  With Gillian fetching and carrying, it didn’t take me long to assemble enough underwear, slacks, shirts and sweaters for four days. ‘And if you stay longer, you can buy anything you need,’ said Gilly. ‘Now. Toothpaste, shampoo?’

  ‘In that little bag at the top of the cupboard in the bathroom. It’s all there; I keep that one packed in case of emergency.’

  ‘I think this just might be an emergency,’ said Gilly seriously, and then spoiled it by giggling at the toiletries kit, which had cartoon cats all over it. She tossed it into the suitcase. ‘Extra shoes? It might be very wet.’

  ‘Good thought. Those old sneakers – sorry, trainers – at the back of the closet should do in a pinch. They don’t actually have holes in them.’ I looked around. ‘I think that does it. Oh, my bathrobe.’

  ‘I put it in already.’

  ‘Then I’m ready. Well, I’m probably not, but as you say, I’m not exactly leaving civilization as we know it.’

  Still feeling rushed and somewhat out of sorts, I let Gilly carry the suitcase downstairs and out to the car, where Alan was waiting with Watson.

  ‘You have your key?’

  ‘Yes, and I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. Call me if you need anything.’

  ‘And Gilly.’ Alan leaned out the car window. ‘Just to be on the safe side, don’t tell anyone where we’ve gone or why. I think we took a sudden notion to visit … where, Dorothy?’

  ‘The Lake District,’ I said promptly. ‘I’ve been told autumn is beautiful there.’

  She agreed, waved goodbye, and we drove off.

  I was still trying to sort out my feelings. ‘Alan,’ I said once he had negotiated several roundabouts and was on the open road, ‘I agree that this is a good idea. But what’s the big hurry? Wales will still be there tomorrow. If Matt is there, he’ll presumably still be there tomorrow.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Alan calmly, passing a slow-moving truck.

  ‘Then why …?’

  ‘I could give you reasons. The threat to Gillian is the biggest one. It’s a beautiful day, I had an itch to travel. But the truth is, I have a notion in the back of my mind that this is the thing to do, and that now is the time to do it.’

  ‘A hunch.’

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘Hunches are my specialty.’

  ‘Perhaps they’re contagious.’ He grinned and took one hand off the wheel to pat mine. Watson, who had been a little upset by the tone of this exchange, sighed and settled down to sleep.

  We weren’t there by lunchtime. We had to go around both London and Birmingham, and the traffic was no better than usual. I was starving before we hit Wales, so we stopped for a quick bite in Shrewsbury. I knew a little about the city, at least the medieval city, from the wonderful Brother Cadfael books by Ellis Peters, but we didn’t take time for any exploring. Alan was still possessed of this odd sense of urgency, and I was beginning to catch it from him.

  When we had left Shrewsbury behind I said meekly, ‘Did you happen to mention exactly where we’re going? “Wales” is a fairly inclusive word.’

  ‘Oh, sorry, didn’t I say? The village where Matt was born is near Caernarfon, so I thought we’d find a place to stay there. Have you ever visited the castle?’

  ‘My dearest love, I’d never been to Wales at all until we went to that music festival a while back. I’ve seen pictures. Isn’t that where Charles was crowned Prince of Wales?’

  ‘Indeed. It’s quite impressive, actually.’

  ‘The castle or the ceremony?’

  ‘Both.’ He concentrated on his driving then, trying to read the road signs, which are in both English and Welsh, with the language at the top varying from one sign to the next. I could make no sense of the Welsh ones, which seemed to bear no resemblance to the English names. But then, a country which calls itself Cymru (pronounced something like ‘Kumry’), when the rest of the world calls it Wales, is plainly interested in presenting a challenge to visitors.

  It was the castle itself which eventually led us to the city. It sits on the edge of town, the far edge, hard by the Menai Strait, but its towers are taller than anything else in even the modern city, so it was visible from a little distance and was quite unmistakable. Alan saw it the same moment I did, and considerately pulled off to the side of the road so I could gape.

  I hadn’t had nearly enough of it when Alan got going again. ‘It’s getting on for teatime, love,’ he said as he got into the town and began manoeuvring its narrow streets cautiously. ‘Look for signs to the tourist information office.’

  It didn’t take long to spot one. Finding the office itself, and then a place to park, was trickier. I was extremely glad Alan was driving.

  ‘And it isn’t even high tourist season,’ I remarked.

  ‘And a jolly good thing, too.’ He turned another corner, and there, amazingly, was a car park with a space or two left.

  He left me in the car while he sprinted for the TI office, which was probably about to close. The day was drawing in. I sat in the car for a moment, and then Watson reminded me that he needed out. I put on his leash, and we wandered a bit. Not far. I didn’t want Alan to come back and find me missing. He is not the sort to panic, but with everything that had been going on, he might get a little uneasy.

  Caernarfon was clearly a tourist town. Every second shop was devoted to souvenirs, and the ones in between were either tea shops or antique shops, with now and then an art gallery. I peered into one or two of the latter. Most of the art was predictable. Watercolours of the castle. Oils of the castle. Photographs of the castle. Some of them were good; many were mediocre.

  I was walking to one just down the street when I heard Alan calling me, and turned back.

  ‘Success!’ he said. ‘We’re booked into a pleasant guest house for three nights, and I got directions to the village where Matt’s family lived.’

  ‘Lived, or lives?’

  ‘I don’t know, but it’s a tiny place, only about four miles from here. It’s getting dark, though, so I think we’ll wait until tomorrow to visit.’

  ‘What’s the name of the place?’

  With a mischievous smile, Alan showed me the paper where the tourist people had written directions.

  LLANGODFAN, it read.

  I just looked at Alan. He pronounced it for me. ‘More or less,’ he added.

  ‘I’ll take your word for it. Right now I want to find a meal, and then our bed for the night.’

  TWENTY-TWO

  Thursday, September 18

  ‘Now what?’

  We had all finished our breakfasts. Watson was looking out the French door, watching the resident cat as it picked its way delicately through the damp grass. It was still early, with an autumnal mist in the air, but it would be a fine day.

  ‘Now we go in search of Matt’s village.’

  ‘Right. I’ve named it Landon. Much easier. I wonder if anyone there speaks English. I wonder if it’s there at all, in this fog. Maybe it’s another Brigadoon.’

  ‘Maybe you need a second cup of coffee to snap out of it.’

  ‘I’ve had two already. I’d bet
ter hit the bathroom before we hit the road.’

  Alan and Watson were waiting when I came back downstairs. ‘He’ll be all right in the car?’

  ‘He’s done his duty. He’s a very fine dog, aren’t you, old chap?’

  Watson responded with his silly doggy smile and several wags of a sleepy tail, and then settled down for a snooze.

  ‘How far are we going?’

  ‘Only a few miles. It’s within walking distance, really, but I didn’t want to waste time.’

  There was that odd urgency again. I never thought I’d hear my stalwart English husband refer to a country walk as a waste of time.

  Oh, well. It was turning into a beautiful day, and this part of Wales was breathtaking, so I sat back to enjoy the ride.

  It lasted for only a few minutes. Alan pulled the car over to the side and stopped.

  ‘Something wrong with the car?’ I asked.

  ‘No. We’re there.’

  I was reminded of the judgement some sophisticated type pronounced on an American town: ‘There isn’t any there there.’ We were stopped at what couldn’t, by the wildest stretch of the imagination, be called a village. It couldn’t even be described as a wide spot in the road. A few houses were clustered together. There was no pub or church or shop or garage. Just houses. Small, bleak houses. ‘It looks very poor,’ I said. ‘Are you sure this is the place?’

  ‘The sign says so.’ He pointed to a road sign a few yards back. ‘I’m sure it is very poor. This was a slate-quarrying village. Even when the quarries were working, the poverty was bad, but they played out decades ago, and you can see the result.’

  ‘Does anyone still live here?’ The only sign of life I could see was a seabird of some sort sitting on the peak of a roof.

  ‘We shall see. I hope they do speak English. I have no Welsh at all.’ He got out of the car and opened the back door for Watson, who bounded out, not at all daunted by the depressing scene before us. I got out with less enthusiasm. This was looking more and more like a wild goose chase.

  Alan put Watson on the leash and walked up to the first door. Knocked. Knocked again. No response.

  It was the same at the second house. And the third. I came up, took Watson’s leash, and walked up the street. We might as well get some exercise out of this fruitless excursion.